Crystal blue water glistens in the sun as we follow a road along the edge of the fjord. As the fjord narrows, a cluster of buildings – more a community than a village – can be seen. Simple, practical buildings. Sheep dot the landscape, uncontained by fences during the summer months. We slow down as we approach a few grazing on the road edge. There’s a seal on a rock in the fjord. Towering above are the stocky, solid walls of mountains, bereft of trees, rising up towards the sky. It’s a landscape so immense, so vast, and so beautiful. The few signs of human habitation barely register here. We pass only a few cars.
And then we’re on a road heading straight up. It’s gravel. The gradient is steeper than anything we’re used to back home in Australia. No switchbacks – straight up, the most efficient way. There’s no road shoulder, no room for error, no chance to pull over and wait for the vertigo to pass. We climb over 500 metres from sea level with virtually no turns. This is not a place for the nervy driver. Holy crap, we say with a grin, as we hit the turbo boost button on our camper and plough on up.
Now, high above the fjords we’re in a new landscape. It’s a cross between alpine and outback. Brown dominates the landscape up here. Down, so far below now, the fjords glisten, a blue so intense it’s almost unreal. We travel on, across the plateau, before dropping back down an equally vertiginous drop into the next fjord.
The Westfjords appear like an add-on to the irregular shaped circle that makes up the rest of Iceland. Fingers of land, jutting out in the direction of Greenland. In fact, the Westfjords region is the original Iceland – it’s geology millions of years older than the young, volcanic areas of the rest of the island. In winter months, some areas between these massive mountains see barely any daylight. In summer, the locals are going about their business. The few tourists that travel in the region find an unassuming place, where you are free to take in the scenery, contemplate and explore at your own pace. It’s a place for slow travel, rather than the hectic rat race approach to tourism where people rush about to tick off sights and organised activities. In the Westfjords, travel is the adventure. Following those fingers of land around the fjords and across the mountain passes. I absolutely loved this part of Iceland. I’d be back in a heartbeat if I could.
Our first night in the Westfjords we stayed at a campsite in the Vatnsfjörður nature reserve. We enjoyed a most peaceful view out over the fjord, looking back towards the Snæfellsnes Peninsula. The sky was often like a sunset, with a gentle pink hue, and interesting vertical light patterns from the ice crystals in the atmosphere. With kids in bed (theoretically sleeping), we snuck off to Hótel Flókalundur to enjoy some fine Icelandic beer as we gazed out over the fjord.
There are a number of walking trails in the reserve, both lowland among birch forests, and highland trails that explore the barren rocky peaks. The next morning we climbed the steep hill behind the campground to lake Hellavatn, set among Wiley Coyote-style rocky pillars. Hardy plants growing among the rock, making the most of the daylight months. Skimming rocks. Simple pleasures. Before leaving, we took a dip in the natural hot pool next to the fjord (Hellulaug). Yep, this is living.
Our next night we were based in Patreksfjörður, a bigger village with harbour infrastructure, and shipping containers partially obscuring our view of the fjord. Patreksfjörður is the closest town to the Látrabjarg cliffs, a good site for viewing puffins at the right time of year (June-July). We were too late for the puffins, but the drive out to the cliffs was an adventure in itself, with more vertigo-inducing gravel roads. Along the way we stopped at the rusty BA64 boat wreck, and passed a stretch of golden sand, standing out in stark contrast to the grey mountains and black sand that define the rest of the peninsula. In the evening, the sky turned fiery, before dying down to a calm shade of violet as we listened to the gentle lapping of the water on the rocks.
Beyond Patreksfjörður the scenery become more jaw dropping, the sense of remoteness heightened. Few travellers ventured on this road, instead detouring inland. A waterfall by the road, aquamarine water so unbelievably clear. No one but us and the sheep.
We rejoined the tourist route at Dynjandi Falls, one of the really spectacular falls in Iceland. Our first glimpse was from above, noticing whitewater tumbling over the cliff just below the road. The road snaked around, and as we approached the carpark the scale of the falls appeared. Five tiers, the top tier in itself cascading like a wedding cake 100 metres, then pausing before plunging down the next tier, and again, and again, and again, before the water finally made its way down to another deep blue fjord below.
Nearby, the village of Ísafjörður juts out into the midst of a fjord, surrounded by sheer mountains. On one side of the village we watched yachts sailing in the golden afternoon light. To the east a cruise ship was heading out towards its next port. We bought some supplies and made our way on. We passed a seal colony where we bought home-made rhubarb jam from an honesty box, mixing it with skyr for a delicious dessert that evening. We stayed on a farm, sheltered among trees, and soaking in delightfully hot pools late into the evening.
Our time in the Westfjords was coming to a close. Strong winds were forecast for the area, so we needed to get back to the Ring Road and away from gales that could topple our van. We detoured via the small town of Drangsnes, its hot tubs by the fjord featuring in our Lonely Planet so the kids had been asking to go to the ‘dragon’s nest hot tubs’ for days. It was the middle of the day and the tubs were small and artificial. The children from the school across the road were about to head out for lunch and play in the pools, so we had a super quick dip and then headed on our way. The drive out of the Westfjords was less spectacular than the western side. The mountains tamer, the area becoming more like the farmland that we would pass once back on the Ring Road. Farewell Westfjords. What a place!
Stay tuned for the next installment: Part 3 – North Iceland
For further information
If road tripping, you want to regularly consult the Icelandic Meteorological Office: vedur.is Driving in strong winds, especially in a campervan is not fun at best, and dangerous at worst.
Another essential website is roads.is to check for updates on road conditions and closures.
We hired our van through JS Campers, and would happily recommend them as a great company with extremely well-set up 4×4 campers.
To find campgrounds in Iceland: tjalda.is Most campgrounds don’t require a booking, which is perfect if you want to travel without a fixed itinerary. This website lists prices and facilities for each campground. Some campgrounds do take bookings through the parka website or app, which can also be used to pay for parking.
We bought a camping card. At the time of writing this costs 179 euros. It is not accepted at all campgrounds, and is most likely going to be worth it if you are travelling for more than three weeks, particularly if you’re flexible and happy to stay in some smaller towns and places that are a little more off the beaten track. The camping card is not accepted at a lot of the more touristy campgrounds in the south and golden circle.
